“I don’t know whether I’m qualified for chewing the rag or not,” she said slowly. “What does the process signify?”
“Oh, just being sort of human, once in a while.” There was a savor of mild cautery in his tone that did not fail to reach his fair companion.
“And what, pray, does being human mean?” she inquired.
“Personal, I imagine. It means cutting down this constant barrier you keep up.”
Her eyebrows lowered into a delicate frown, while her calm, blue eyes took on an expression half-way between surprise and displeasure. Then her pale face blushed.
“Well, Mr. Bard, I hardly understand!” she began. “I—”
“Hold on,” he interrupted. “You mustn’t be offended. That’s the last idea in my head. If I didn’t care at all I wouldn’t have mentioned it.”
He rose from the table and walked slowly, to stand by the great window. Her eyes followed his big form, and then rested on the back of his auburn head. She was not only puzzled, but even confused. After a hesitant moment she rose very slowly and then walked quickly to his side.
She touched him on the arm and looked up into his face.
“Oh, tell me,” she said with some distress, “have I done anything to hurt your feelings? You’re such a genuine sort of a man, I really wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings.”